One Hundredth Annual Hunger Games
by Eusaq11
Summary: Welcome to the 100th annual Hunger Games. for this year's Quarter Quell, our beloved tributes will not be reaped, voted for, or volunteering but, our own people from the capital with be selecting our tributes. Prepare yourself for the brawn, brains, and beauty from our hand selected tributes. We only pick the best. Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor.
1. The Beginning

Chapter 1

I crawl into the barn I choose to shelter me for the night. I've been coming to this barn for a few days now. It's a lovely well built stable with a rustic red paint job and a few horses. Tonight, I'll have the whole night to myself, worry free about getting caught. I feel myself getting excited now. A night of peace with the familiar choir of mooing and bleating of the livestock in the background. Although a small part in the back of my mind is ignorant to the peace. It knows why the barn is vacant and why everyone is resting for tomorrow.

Tomorrow is the reaping.

They announced the fourth quarter quell yesterday. I heard a group of women surrounding a crying mother, whispering about what the capital came up with to creatively change the murder of twenty three children. The women discussed the group of high ranked capital citizens, including president snow himself, who would visit each district and choose for themselves, a young boy and young girl to compete as a tribute in the one hundredth hunger games.

I walk back further into the barn looking for it. I made sure the pale hay covered its wooden body flawlessly. After a few minutes of searching, I finally spot a glint of the metal wire string. I reach down and rescue the rest of the body from the hay and lower myself down on the bouncy straw. I pluck a few strings turning the top pegs on its neck until the string stretches to the pitch I need.

It was my grandmothers. Who got it from her grandma, and has been passed down from since before the apocalypse. After she retired from her horse breeding job, she spent her days cradling its body, tapping her finger in certain spots on its neck, brushing the fingers of her other hand on the opposite end of the strings. I was 5 and a half when I first heard the music. It was so beautiful that I remember myself being stunned at its beauty. I sat down at the door of the room, the music was coming from, and stayed listening to it until I fell asleep. After what seemed like a second later my grandmother was holding me telling me I fell asleep in the doorway. Rubbing my eyes I asked her to tell me where the music came from. She took me to her chair and pulled me on her lap. "This is my guitar."

Guitar. What and interesting name. I looked up at her and asked her "will you teach me?"

"Of course sugar"

And from then until she died she taught me all she knew about the guitar and I became very good at playing this guitar. But it was just me and grandma for a long time and grandma wasn't working. To get our food, gran taught me how to steal.

One day when I was around seven, she took me out to a beat up old grocery shop and told me, "alright baby. Now you see that red apple?" We never had anything as special as apples before.

Licking my lips I nodded.

"I want you to go get it and bring it out of the shop."

"Grandma? Why can't you go get it?"

"You see baby, that's the thing, not any old person can walk in and take stuff and walk out. But you can. The shopkeeper told me he won't get mad at you for stealing".

"Why won't he get mad at me?"

"Well because he knows it's just a game."

"ohh a game?" my innocent mind has always understood games.

I loved games. I thought I was good at them too. My grandma taught me how to play an old game called chess. Id beat her every time. Or so I thought. Looking back at it now I realize grandma probably allowed me to win all this time.

"Yeah, baby, you're so good at games, that guy won't know what hit him."

I smile at the thought of winning. I always loved to win.

"How do you play the game grandma?"

"Well that's the thing, the hard part isn't getting the fruit, the hard part is getting the fruit without him knowing you took the fruit."

I cocked my head to the side trying to develop a plan on how to win this game. Even as a young girl I knew, in order to be successful, you needed careful planning.

I look up at my grandma and nod. A smile creeps on my grandma's face, which makes me smile. I was happy if my grandma was happy.

Grandma puts her hand on my shoulder. "I'm proud of you baby."

Hearing those words, I pulled up my chin and walked into the store. The shop owner saw me and furrowed his brow, probably wondering where my parents were. He didn't say anything. I gave him a big smile. I've always heard gran talk about how I have a great smile. Been told I'm pretty too. With my big deep green eyes and long light brown colored curls. Although some people think of freckles as blemishes that should be covered, I wear my spray of dark freckles across my nose proudly.

Walking across the store I pretend to check out a bunch of bananas. I've never eaten bananas before then but I pick them up and check out their bright yellow form as if I know what I'm doing.

The shopkeeper walks over to me.

"Need any help miss?"

"No thank you."

I answer giving him, what I hoped, was a dazzling smile.

"Alright sweetie just let me know if you need help."

I give him the innocent little girl look and reply "thank you Mr."

He smiles to himself as he walks back to the front desk to await another customer.

Walk over to the apple section and look back at my grandma standing in front of the shop window pretending to wait for a bus. I see that right above the apples are a bunch of cucumbers so I lean over the apples, on my tippy toes, and pick a firm green cucumber with one hand and snatch a apple with the other hand and slip it into my pocket. I stood for a while inspecting the cucumber and faked dissatisfaction with it as I put it back reaching again for another apple and slipped that one in my pocket too.

I looked down at two round bulges in my pockets, trying to think of a solution I can come up with to walk out of the store without him noticing the apples. I look up at the cucumbers and see a fat black fly resting on a cucumber. I get an idea. I look back at the shopkeeper who is looking down. Moving his lips to form silent words. He's reading something.

I scream a blood curling scream and yell "a fly!"

He runs over to me but before he gets to me I run towards the exit yelling "it's a fly!"

I run out of the store and down the street. I turn the corner and rest waiting to see if he would come looking for me.

It worked.

He didn't come and now I have two pretty red apples for me and grandma to enjoy.

I see someone turn the corner.

It's grandma. She has a big smile on her face.

"You did it baby! Let me see them!"

I pull out the two fat apples from my pockets and we walk home each of us enjoying our sweet apple.

And that was the first time I stole.

That's how we survived. We lived in an old abandon barn, slept on hay, ate stolen foods and played the guitar for each other.

But soon, my stealing wasn't enough. People started to realize there stuff was going missing. And I was getting cocky. Stealing things we really didn't need. I got jewelry, toys, blankets, and anything else sold at the market. But I was getting caught more often. Not that I wasn't as good at stealing anymore, that wasn't the case at all. In fact I got so good at stealing I could steal pretty much anything from anyone. But people started being more aware when I was around. I'd give them my pretty smile and they'd return it but I wasn't an innocent little girl anymore. By the time people stopped letting me get away with stealing, I was about ten or eleven.

I had grown into what my grandma called me, a stunning young lady. My freckles stayed intact on my tan nose while I grew older. People started noticing me more. My eyes and freckles stood me out and my hair lightened up from a normal light brown color to a pretty golden color. Some people knew I wasn't from here. And those who hadn't figured it out before, began to. They whispered about my mom and my grandma. But I got them back. I made sure they tripped on a "misplaced" twig while carrying their fresh milk or that their late mother's old jewelry disappeared from their homes. But they caught on.

I didn't go to school. Never. But I always wanted to. I would sit outside the school yard and watch the girls my age skip out the doors carrying their books all happily. I would sit and watch the kids play at recess from behind a bush. I would sit there and envy them, hate them. I hated them because they got to go to school. They knew how to read and write and I didn't. One day I asked gran why I couldn't go to school like Evangeline Thomas, or Susan Drimson. She told me people didn't want people like us there. I didn't understand then. I thought those people were just being mean, that they hated us for no reason. I didn't understand that we were thieves. We were scum.

The day after I asked gran why I could go to school, I returned to the school and watched the children, as I usually did. I saw a girl being taken outside by a teacher. The girl was yelling "I want another juice!" she was crying and squirming trying to untangle herself from her teachers grip. "Hush, Casey, snack time is over, you can't have another juice." Then the teacher told her she was going to be put in timeout. The teacher brought out a chair and sat her down, telling her that she needed to stay here for ten minutes. Then the teacher went back inside, leaving the crying child outside. After observing the girl for a few minutes I became angry at her. She got to go to school. And here she was crying because she didn't get her juice. I never had juice. I went up to her and she asked my through I few sobs what I was doing. I told her I was watching her. "you're a homeless girl! My daddy told me you were dirty and to stay away from you."

"Why" I asked.

"Because no one likes you." She stopped crying now. But she started crying again after I punched her in the face.

I hid behind the bush and watched the teacher come out to inspect Casey's fuss. She let Casey in before cursing the filthy thief brat and slamming the door. I spent the majority of the rest of that day behind the bush crying and cursing those happy children. Reading their books, playing tag and not appreciating one fucking minute of what they have.

Not able to sneak around often and steal, gran and I became low on food. I started sitting out in the side of the streets in the richer neighborhoods with my picker playing something beautiful to see who would leave my some spare change. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough. When i just turned twelve, reaping age, grandma became very weak from malnutrition. She died four weeks before my first reaping.

Deciding I didn't have much to live for anymore, I applied for tesserae which got me ten slips of paper, with my name on them, in the big glass drawing ball at my first reaping. Terrified out of my wits at my first reaping, I cried of relief when they didn't pick me. But having no one to cradle you while you cry or not having anyone to tell you it's gonna be alright, hardens you up. I decided if I wanted to keep getting tesserae food, I'd have to keep entering my name. The odds were becoming less and less in my favor.

Understanding I might get picked, I trained myself in the barn. With stolen daggers and swords I sliced up dozens of self made hay people and killed about a dozen cows, sheep, and pigs to practice on moving targets. I got very good with my sword. I felt safe knowing id prepared for the games. I liked the confidence, carrying around my sword, gave me.

Ever since my gran passed I've moved from place to place stealing, playing my picker of the streets and doing small tasks for people every once and a while. Usually someone will come around and ask me to heard cattle or watch over grazing hours. I'm real good with the animals.

The horses especially.

Gran loved horses more than anything in the entire world. Except maybe me. When I was real young I would beg gran to let me help her treat her horses. The horses Gran worked with were always the best of the best. She worked for a rich horse breeder. My favorite horse to work with was CrestFallen. The horse never neighed, kicked, whined or got out of control. It was a very smart horse and did everything it was told. The show horse always stood, regal looking and lovely, with its shiny honey brown coat and long blond mane with a constant, serious looking, expression on its face. Gran used to kid that they named the horse CrestFallen because the horse always seemed to be depressed. But once I overheard a couple other workers that say the owner's wife died the day they acquired that horse.

Watching gran work I learned a lot about caring for horses. The proper way to groom them, how to calm them, what snacks they like. But most importantly I was taught how to ride them. I was an excellent rider. People always asked me to ride around and herd cows and they would give me food. That's all I did.

After an hour of playing myself a lullaby I sleep.

I wake up to the blinding sun squeezing through a crack in the old barn door. I open my eyes to find two large brown eyes staring back at me. The creature sticks out its wet tongue and licks me from my chin stopping at my eyes. Ew.

I jump up, still clutching the guitar.

I remember what day it is and I look at my reflection in the shiny wood of the back of the guitar to see five red slashes on my cheek. I must've slept on the strings. I bury it in the hay and grab my pack.

I kneel down and zip open the bag. I grab a stolen hair brush and use it to push down my curls at an attempt to control the madness. After my grandma died I cut my hair very short and tried to keep it that way but I haven't gotten the chance to get my hands on a pair of shears for a while and my hair is currently shoulder length.

The district always makes a show of reaping. Always having everyone look especially nice for the occasion. But really, no one knows what to expect today, with the capital on its way.

Once I brush out my curls I return the brush to the pack and pull out the dress I took from the clothing store, last week. I stole the dress for this occasion. The entire goal of this year's reaping is to not let your child stand out front he rest of the crowd. If you stand out, you will be noticed. And the last thing I needed was to stand out from the crowd because I'm not wearing a dress or because my hair is frizzy.

I made sure to pick a nice dress too.

The dress was an excruciatingly soft material which I am guessing is silk. My grandma had a silk scarf she kept tied around her waist. The color of the dress was a dark green color that i thought went nicely with my eyes. It had a not too low V neck and was fitted until it hit the waist and then flared out to a soft a line skirt that hit just above my knees. I slipped on my dress and admired how it hugged my curvy bust and gracefully outlined my waist.

I haven't worn a dress like this since last year's reaping, and that dress was nothing compared to the quality of this one.

I twirled enjoying my beauty and the soft fabric brushing my thighs and then I stopped. What if this dress is too pretty? What if they notice me?

I'll be in the front after all because of tesserae. This year, since there was no drawing of names, they are doing the reaping formations differently. The children are out in sections with the oldest, and the children with the most tesserae, nearer the front, and the younger ones of rich children farther away from the front.

The children are put far away because it's supposed to turn off the capital from choosing them. But really, no one knows what the capital is going to do when they arrive.

I leave the barn and head to the main grazing field that is cleared out for reapings.


	2. The Reaping

On my way I see other children walking with their families on their way to the reaping. I think of my grandma. I miss her. Then for a split second I allow myself to remember my mother. I wish she were here to rescue me from this place. I know she would take me to the capital if she were here or a place as lavish. I know she loved me. Well I'd like to think she did. I like to think she cared about what happened to me.

Grandma told me stories of her. Stories that made me upset. I thought my mother sounded amazing because everyone seemed to love my mother then. She was famous, talented and beautiful. She came straight from the capital itself where she was a star. I imagined people would step over each other just to hear my mom sing in the beautiful clear voice of hers. Gran showed me tapes of her singing and she said I have her good looks and her talent.

Grandma told me about what happened to my mom. But I don't think it's all true. I refuse to believe that the woman who made me did all those things grandma says. It can't be true. She was my mother.

It can't be true.

A shiver runs through my body and I force myself not to think of her.

Clearing my head of distractions I focus on where I'm going. Arriving at the grazing field I look out to search for the familiar sea of cattle heads lowered and eating but instead of cattle heads I see human heads all waiting anxiously for the arrival of the capital.

I walk over to the identification line that tells you where to go according to age, gender, and tesserae. A peace keeper woman in a gray suit pricks the finger of each child and points them in the direction they are to stand at.

This year I took tesserae.

This year I took a lot of tesserae.

After the peacekeeper points me to the very front of the crowd, I am told to stand next to a young skinny girl with brown curls and a plain-looking faded pink dress.

I notice the children standing closest to me are all the poorest of the poor. They all have taken ridiculous amounts of tesserae to feed themselves.

I like to think I don't belong here with these children. Remembering who my mother was reminds me I'm not like them. My mother was a star. She was different. I am different. One look my eyes and you know I'm not from here.

I lift my head a bit higher knowing that I do not belong here. I was mearly put here because of my situation.

Suddenly I hear a group of collective gasps from the audience around me. I look up to see a group of 5 men and 5 woman dressed in capital clothing walk onto the stage. the five women were all dressed the most outrageous clothing including foot tall hair styles, strange clothes and very tall heels. the men sported funny mustaches that curled and folded into the weirdest shapes and sizes.

What stood out the most of the capital people were how bright the colors they wore were. From their hair to their toe nails were startling pinks, reds, blues, greens, yellows, and any other color you can think of. the group of smiling clowns stood in a row on the big stage. they looked at all of us occasionally leaning to the person next to them to whisper and point in the direction of an unfortunate child. a minute later a woman with very long pin straight yellow hair walks up onto the stage. the woman's bright yellow hair finished at the back of her knees. it swished as she walked. her outfit was a striped yellow, blue, orange and pink dress that ended above her knees, shorter than her hair. she wore bright neon blue pumps.

"greetings district ten! my name is Sunny Wyatt will be your new escort." she says through her grinning teeth.

the group of capital people clap and smile in our direction as the audience before them remains dead silent.

"before we begin, let us watch a brief video reminding us of the history of our country and the tradition of the annual hunger games." on the giant screen be

on the giant screen a video played about the hunger games, why we do it, what it means and all that.

Bored, I admire the morning that has just finished. The blue sky stretched forever around us. I look over at the poor girl next to me. She is so thin. I wonder if I look that thin. I look down at myself. My breasts stick out of my chest and look huge in comparison to my small waist. I smile a little at my nice body. I go back to looking at the girl next to me. I know I'm staring at her. I can tell she knows it too. Maybe she knows who I am? The young thief. I continue to stare. She gulps once and allows her eyes to slide over and glance at me. As soon as her eyes meet mine she looks away and takes in a puff of air as she gasps at my stare. I smile wide and slowly turn my attention to the ending video.

"Ok district ten! Today is your lucky day. Today, with us now, is our very own...", her voice rises getting louder and louder preparing for her climax, "President Snow!" she shouts with glee. The capital people cheer while my district claps flatly.

Dressed in a beautiful baby blue suite with white pants and white shoes, the president walks out and Sunny hands him the mic.

His plush white hair is combed back away from his face. His lips are light pink and his blue eyes look almost clear from where I am standing.

He raises the microphone to his lips.

"Good Morning district ten." the president's deep voice is calm and smooth as it rings out across the field. He lifts the corners of his mouth to form a slight smile. He is very handsome but in an artificial way. His smile, which I can tell is supposed to be warm and friendly, has a creepy, uncomfortable feel to it.

He continues speaking.

"As you know, this year is the one hundredth annual hunger games. This year our tribute will not be randomly selected, as they were in earlier years. I have brought to your district a team of very intelligent, important people to select a tribute to represent your district in the games. First, our team will start in the front of the field and select five girls, and five boys. Once they pick their child of choice, the child will be called on stage where I will make the final decision as to who will be this year's tribute."

I look over at the group of capital people who have begun to exit the stage. Two men and three women walk over to the girls section of the crowed. The other three men and two women walk over to the boys section.

The president finishes his speech.

"Good luck to you all and may the odds be ever in your favor"

A young lady from the capital group is walking in our row of girls. She has bright pink hair that is fluffed up on top of her head. It looks like a pink cloud. She passes each girl. She looks each girl in the eye and stares into her eyes for about a minute. Then she checks out the rest of them and moves on to her next victim.

I feel my heart pounding in my chest but I force myself not to look scared. I put a bored expression on my face as the lady studies the thin girl next to me. She steps over to stand in front of me with a disgusted look on her face left over from staring at the poor girl next to me. She looks at me and then cocks her head to the side, as if confused by the look of me. I stare into her blue eyes struggling to maintain the bored look I took on. I am, no doubt, the first person here to look her in the eyes. I want her to know I'm not scared of her. That I'm not below her. I belonged in the capital, like my mother.

After a minute of our little staring contest the capital lady smiles at me, revealing a line of perfectly, unnaturally, white teeth. Then she runs her eyes up and down my body taking in the rest of my appearance. I shiver but remain my composer as the capitalite steps over to the person beside me.

My heart beat begins to slow but my head fills with worry. Why did she smile at me? Maybe she likes me and wouldn't want to send me to my death. She couldn't possibly send a young girl like me to death.  
Then I freeze with realization, that's exactly what that lady came here to do.

Next a male begins studying the girls in my row. He isn't quite as obnoxious as the woman before him. He slowly passes by each young girl. He wears a smooth poker face, not showing any disgust or admiration for any one. He spends the same amount of time on each girl. He is young and very handsome. This man has a normal looking face and brown hair. But his clothes make up for his normal, handsome features. He is wearing black tights and a long deep blue suit that extends up to his knees. His dress shirt underneath is a bright pink/purple color. When he walks up to me I notice his eyeliner is the same color as his shirt. The pink under his eyes brings out his dark blue eyes.

He walks with grace as well as masculinity. He steps in front of me and observes me just the same as he has observed the others before me. I try to read his eyes but, just as he had before, he walks away without any noticeable thoughts on his face.

The next capitalites that come to my row are two women. One lady is very chubby and has her bright blue/purple hair styled in a short bob that just clears up to her ears. The fat woman is wearing a purple fur vest on top of a tight yellow dress that is stretched across her round body. the other woman is stick thin and has a short bob too except hers is a minty green color. She is wearing a surprisingly not hideous mint green blouse over tight white jeans. As I observe her walking towards my I notice a flash of color in this woman's mouth.

The two ladies walk down, giggling and commenting on the girls they see.  
They stop at the thin, poor girl next to me. They pause to look at the girl. After a second the turn to look at each other. They immediately burst out in laughter. The fat one grabs on to the girl as if she is laughing so hard she might collapse and needs support. After they calm down the thin lady puts her finger under the girls chin.  
"Much to thin." She declares  
"Look at her hair. Ew!" Comments the other one.

They begin poking at the girl in various places commenting on the poor girls less than perfect features.

Looking at the thin lady, I realize what was in her mouth.  
As I watch her giggle, she flashes two rows of sparkling mint green colored teeth.

The two woman step over to me. I'm pleased to see that they don't instantly begin to insult me.

The fat lady pinches my arm and lifts it up. She looks up at the thinner lady, who is about five inches taller than her, "this one has some meat on her."

The thin lady looks to where the fat one is pointing. "Ugh maybe a little too much meat" she says, gesturing at my boobs. Then the thin lady flicks a lock of my hair. She tells her companion that my hair needs to be washed.  
The fat lady then leans in very close to my face and squints her eyes. She is so close to me I can feel her hot meaty breath on my cheeks.  
"this girl has a mustache." She finally declares.  
I do not have a fucking mustache.  
I can't help my face as it turns into a grimace.

Eventually, they finish scrutinizing my features and move on to the next girl. I can hear them criticizing the next person. "Your nose is so huge?" One woman says as if asking the young girl why she would choose to have a nose of that size.  
I roll my eyes. These woman aren't ever going to find a tribute that meets their standards.

I see an older man walking down my row. This is the last capitalite, I remind myself. This last man has a very gaudy mustache. The thick hair is a coal-black color. It starts thick on his upper lip and thins out and curls at his cheeks. After the cheeks, the curl ends and extends down, off of his face and droops down into a single ringlet. One on each side of his face.

He walks past the group of girls not stopping to look at any one more than five seconds. He walks fast, his mustache curls swinging against his cheeks, as if he has already made up his mind as to who he has chosen.

I get about three seconds of attention before he walks away. Relived that was over, I relax my muscles and review over the events that just occurred. I decide, besides the first woman who passed by, I was safe.  
Not too long after the last guy moved away from me, the choosing was over. The escort announced that the teens that each capitalite selected would be revealed and asked to come on stage where president snow would make the final pick as to who would be the tribute.

I look over at the president who is sitting on a chair towards the back of the stage. He looks bored and tired. I almost pity him to have to go through this. Almost.

They decide to begin with the boys.

Sunny, the escort, hands the mic to one of the capitalites that will choose a boy. He purses his unnaturally light pink colored lips and speaks into the mic.

"Buck Galush."

I watch a tall thin boy walk up on stage. He has shaggy light brown hair and glasses. He's kind of handsome, I notice. He gets up on stage and he looks very nervous. But after a wave of silent realization of where he is, and who watching him, a smile revealing a dimple on each of his cheeks, appears. Smart boy. He shakes his hair and Sunny, the long-haired escort, nods approvingly.

"Good choice." She says.

Next, a thin boy with glasses gets called up by another capitalite. He is dark-skinned has dark close cropped hair.

After him they call another name. "Mario Gandisimo" I watch as a huge monster of a boy walks out of the 18-year-old section. He has a full beard and rippling muscles. I sympathize for the girl who might have to be in the arena with this guy.

The next name they call is "Kostas Remmingham". He swaggers over to the stage knowing everyone's eyes are on him. He is gorgeous. He has very dark hair and startling blue eyes. Once on stage he gives the audience a sexy smile and a wink. I wonder how he's not scared. This time sunny gets out a long whistle and shakes hands with the boy, hesitating a little too long before she releases his hand.

Next comes a small, boy walking out from the 13-year-old section. He's clearly terrified and shaking as he looks around for family or friends. He's a beautiful little boy, but he's just a boy. What kind of sick person hand picks a little boy to be murdered? Looking up at President Snow making his way toward the group of boys, I get my answer. The president says his welcome to the chosen through the microphone and shakes hands with each boy looking them over and moving on.

Then he asks the small boy, the dark-skinned boy, and the Kostas Remmingham to stand to the side leaving the giant boy and the one named Buck Galush, facing the president in the center of the stage. I hear the families and friends of the boys who had stood aside, sigh in relief and I feel the worry and curiosity at the two remaining boys from everyone else as the president leans into the ear of Buck and whispers something into his ear. Then Buck returned the whisper into the ear of the president. The president nods and shakes the boy's hand once more. Then he turns to Mario and does the exact same thing. After their handshake the president returns to the microphone and announces the winner. I watch both boys as the president says "This year our tribute for the 100 annual hunger games is Buck Galush!"

The president dismisses the other boys and Buck is standing on stage shaking subtlety, but smiling for the camera. I watch him as Sunny begins to announce that it's the girls' turn. The first woman who walked down my row with the pink hair announces her choice. She's going to pick me. I know it. I lower my head hoping if she can't see me, she won't pick me. I hear her say "Alana Formosa" I watch a pretty brunette walk up on stage from the fifteen year old section, looking sad.

Then the young handsome man announces his choice. I begin to calm a little. She didn't pick me! I involuntarily smile with relief but then wipe the smile off. That's a person that was just chosen to die. I shouldn't smile. Then I hear my name. I look up at the handsome capitalite watching my reaction. He nods once, at me. I can feel the eyes on me. Everyone's eyes. "It's so unsettling" is all I could think. I don't move for a moment, wondering why he called my name. His face falls into a slight frown and I force myself to push my way out of the row. I look at the poor thin girl next to me and I see her staring at me, her eyes wide. I walk slowly on stage and stand beside the first girl who was called.

I don't feel scared. I mean, I'm scared, but it's as if the news of my being chosen hasn't sunk in yet. I'm just merely waiting for the next thing to happen. I look out at the sea of heads and I zone out, finding myself thinking of the boy that I might be going to the capital with. I look over at him. He still has a smile plastered on his face. Then I smile too. Not because it's good for the audience, or because I have nothing better to do, but because the boy is smiling. Up on stage I can see him much better. He has intelligent looking brown eyes and nice full lips. His long hair brushes his forehead and he's repeatedly is pushing it back, unable to keep still for too long.

Then, waking me up from my thoughts I feel hot breath on my cheek and I'm smacked with the scent of blood and roses. "What is your favorite color?", President Snow whispers in my ear. I respond flatly, eyeing his pretty suit and the outfits of the other capitalites. "Black."  
Then he steps over to a gorgeous red headed girl in a blue dress that matches her eyes, standing beside me. He whispers into her ear and she shivers before she speaks to him. I glance over at three girls standing to the side of the stage looking relieved. That's when it really sinks in. I could be in the Hunger Games. I could die. "I don't want to die" I repeat over and over in my head until my lips are mouthing the words. I begin to worry and I'm sure my face shows it as well. President snow steps back from the red head. Instead of going straight into announcing his choice, like he did for the boys, he steps back and looks at me, up and down. I try not to look scared as I observe this man, deciding if he will let me live, or watch me die. Then he scrutinizes the other girl.

Then I remember the audience who has been silent. I look at them looking at us. I prepare myself to feel the unsettling feeling of their eyes on me, but instead comes another feeling. Their all watching me. Their thinking about me, judging me. Maybe they think I look beautiful standing here in the sunlight in my pretty dress. Maybe the feel sorry for me, or maybe they know me as a thief and are happy to see me scared. Whatever they are thinking, it's about me. I smile a little. I won't let those bastards feel sorry for me or enjoy watching me suffer. I'm gonna dazzle them. I've got their attention. I've got the attention of the capital! The whole damn country is watching me!  
I give the audience a big, pretty, smile.

Then I hear my name.

This time I instantly realize exactly what the calling of my name meant. I don't let go of my smile though, even when I shake hands with my district partner.

Even when my district flatly claps at my possible death, I don't stop smiling.

I'm smiling when I'm escorted to the justice building.

I keep smiling when the doors to the large room shut.

I smile until I fall to my knees bawling.


End file.
